Chapter Text
The pounding in your skull is the first thing you become aware of. An intense throbbing that shoved all other thoughts away except pain.
You were aware you were in a room laying on a bed, but it feels like treading dark water with no shore in sight. When your strength wanes you sink beneath the waves, pulled down into heavy slumber. When it returns you break the surface again, gasping for air that never quite fills your lungs.
It becomes a cycle.
Sounds flickered in and out around you, just out of reach. You would catch words like "stable" or "watch"; but they mean nothing. You are not even certain what you are. Each time you fight your way back to the surface, it takes more effort than the last. Your strength is fading, and soon you would slip under and not resurface.
You do not have the strength to open your eyes, even if you wanted to. Crusted sleep weighs on your eyelids, and your finger twitches with the urge to rub it away, but your body refuses to obey. All you can do is lie there in the pain until the dark pulls you under again.
No.
Not like this. You refuse to die like this; water filling your lungs and the weight of it all pulling you further and further down. The anger and frustrations harden something inside you. Even if you you do not know who you are, you know you do not want to die like this; helpless and silent. Trapped in a body that will not move.
So the next time you claw your way back to the surface, reaching for a sky you can not see; you push harder than before. Something rests in your hand. You know not what but you squeeze it with all the strength you have left.
Three fingers curl weakly around whatever rests in your palm.
The room explodes into noises you can suddenly make sense of. A chair scrapes against stone floors, and a voice calls for a maester. There are doors opening and closing and dishes clattering onto wooden surfaces, but the throbbing in your head makes it hard to concentrate on any one noise for more than a moment.
The thing in your hand moves, probably to pull away but the thought of letting your anchor go, forces such a fear through your weak body that you clamp down tighter on the object. You can now feel that its a hand, slightly clammy and peppered with calluses that tingle against your skin. Another hand folds on top of your fist, and it comforts you.
You hear movement coming closer and you notice a warm glow through your eyelids; a candle most like as you can feel the heat warming your chilled skin. A throat clears softly and a warm cloth is pressed against your eyes, rubbing away the sleep. They pulled the cloth away and you blink away the moisture left behind, finally taking in the room you are in; and the people inhabiting it.
The room is shrouded in darkness except for the glow of a candle on your left side. It illuminates the bed you are propped up on; a thing of dark wood, piled so high with blankets and furs you couldn't see the footboard. You didn't recognize it. You suspected that there were windows but the curtains must have been drawn tight as no light seeped in from anywhere but the candle.
A throat cleared again and you snapped your gaze to the man holding the candle, the motion causing another wave of pain to flow through your head making you hiss, and an intense nausea accompanied it. Apparently they were prepared for this as a bucket was thrust in front of you as you hurled into the container.
You guessed you hadn't eaten recently as all that came up was burning bile that ravaged your already sore throat. Someone was holding back your hair from the bucket and you became aware of a bandage wrapped around your head with a thicker padding on your right side.
Once your stomach was well and truly empty you slumped back against the pillows and the bucket was taken away and another figure took up the space and held a mug up to your lips. You thankfully drank and let your eyes wander up the arm of the figure to their face. The candle glow only let you see the outline of their face but you noticed it was a man, with short cropped hair and a maintained beard.
You didn't recognize him.
He caught you staring and he seemed to soften slightly, his other hand came up to push away some of your hair and you jerked back in surprise at his boldness. His hand froze mere inches away from your face and you saw brows furrow in confusion. He pulled the cup away and slipped back a few steps.
The older man on your left brought the candle closer and rested it on an end table you hadn't noticed. With both hands free he turned towards you. "Lady Stark it is lovely to have you back with us."
The man was probably in his late fifties, his hair was a dark gray and was thinning on the top, but he had a wild unkempt beard. You also didn't recognize him but it wasn't uncommon for maesters to be called from other keeps during emergencies. You tried to flash him a warm smile, but you think it came out more pained.
You opened your mouth to address him. "I- mm-"
You shut your mouth because that was most definitely not what you had meant to say. Your tongue set heavy in your mouth and your brain felt stuffed with cotton, making it difficult to form sentences.
The maester just smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling and he set a hand on your left arm still under the furs. "Don't push your self My Lady, you have been asleep for a fortnight. It will take time for your body to adjust."
Your eyes widen at his words, and you go to sit up straighter, your father must be worried sick. He should be here, you have to-
There is a hand on your shoulder pushing you back into the pillows. It’s a different man than the one who gave you water. Hes sitting in a chair on your right, you hadn't noticed, one hand on your shoulder and the other held tightly in your still curled fist.
Your gaze travels over his face but you stop short when the candle illuminates the color of his hair. Silver.
Targaryen silver to be exact. His nose looked like it had been broken a few to many times , and his mouth was drawn up into a scowl. His violet eyes boring into you, looking for something but you know not what of.
The haze over your mind had finally lifted enough and the seriousness of your situation was setting in. You had no clue where you were, it definitely wasn't Winterfell and now there were Targaryen's looking over you, and there definitely hadn't been Targaryen's visiting the North last time you checked.
It suddenly all felt too much. You couldn't tear your gaze away from this mans piercing eyes, but nor could you make sense of what was happening. Tears, unbidden welded up in your eyes and your throat closed as you tried to hold back your sob.
The man wrenched both of his hands away from you and heard him stumble back a few paces but your eyes were too flooded with tears to make sense of anything else. The comfort of his hand in yours was grounding and without it you felt cold and empty, which definitely weren't helping your tears, as you let out another choked sob.
"Skoros emagon nyke gaomagon!" You heard the man snarl and your brain translated the meaning to 'What have I done', but before you could make sense of how you know what language he was speaking, the door to the chamber you were in opened and slammed with enough force to rattle the dishes on the beside table. An angry returning of the pulsing headache came with it, making you wince.
There was more shuffling of figures and a hand was on your face turning your head back to that maester. He still wore than warm smile which thankfully seemed to cut through the noises of your racing mind and calm you; if only somewhat.
"Lady Stark I know this must be very jarring, but I need to see the extent of which your injuries go. Will you permit me to run a few test?" He didn't sound annoyed, just resigned and patient. You sniffled and nodded your head, only wincing somewhat as the pain dulled. He nodded to himself and leaned back, taking the layer of furs as he went, revealing your left arm. It was wrapped in a bandage you hadn't felt and you realized that your entire left arm was tingling unpleasantly.
"Can you lift your arm for me?"
He tapped your left arm, indicating that he wanted you to lift that one and you did as he bid. Or at least tried. Your arm did not move from your side. You scrunched up your face and tried to lift it again but your arm did not so much as twitch.
A jolt of fear coursed through you at the thought of never being able to use your arm again, and the tears returned with a vengeance. You shook your head , looking at the maester through blurry eyes. He hummed in acknowledgement and thru your tears you saw him poking at your arm in different places but all you could feel was that dull tingle like you had slept on it for too long.
"You can feel none of this, my lady?" His hand traveled slowly up your arm, poking and prodding and you grew frustrated at your bodies weakness. So instead of shaking your head 'no' again you opened your mouth and answered him instead.
"N-no."
You scarcely recognized the voice that came out of your throat, it sounded raw and wrong to your ears so you cleared your throat and tried again. "I- I wish to speak to my lord father, he must be worried about me."
The maester got a queer look on his face, like he had just eaten a lemon unexpectedly and his eyes flickered over to your right, the man with short cropped hair still stood there. The look was gone as soon as it appeared and he was backing to smiling.
"My lady, where do you think you are?"
You flinched back at the odd question, but answered him anyway. "Somewhere in the North I presume, but I don't think this is Winterfell. I do not recognize this room."
The queer look was back and there was movement on you right as the man who gave you the cup of water came back into view. He was closer this time so you were able to get a better look at him in the candle light. His overcoat he wore was a rich black velvet that caught the light with his movements, but what really stood out on the man, was the silver hand pin over his heart.
Baelor Targaryen was not someone you had met before, but you had heard enough stories and rumors about the kings eldest and heir to the Iron Throne. Your eyes widened as you looked up into his mismatched ones. "My prince- I-" Thankfully, Baelor cut you off by lifting his hand, you had know idea what to say in this scenario as you were obviously not in a fit state to curtsy right now.
"Peace my lady, you are not in the North, you are in Ashford Castle."
Your head spun at the new information and you were thankful you were lying down. "My prince I do not think you lie but I do not remember traveling from Winterfell." If you had taken the Kings road the entire way here it would have taken you close to six weeks to arrive from Winterfell. Your father must be worried sick.
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he looks suddenly very sad, but you couldn't guess why. " Lord Ashford held a tourney a fortnight ago for his daughter’s thirteenth name day…." Prince Baelor spoke softly but his words held such an assurance behind them that you were utterly captivated.
He explained that during the tourney his nephew had attacked a puppeteer and that a hedge knight had then defended the girl. It led to an Andals form of trial-by-combat called a 'Trial of Seven'. You were so mesmerized by his tale, that when he sat down besides your knees on the bed, you didn't even flinch.
Baelor continued his captivating story about how one of the hedge knights six fighters, a 'Raymun Fossaway'; another name that didn't ring a bell; couldn't participate on account of a terrible bout of food poisoning from the celebrations of the evening prior.
Someone in plain colors with no house sigil upon their armor ran into the arena and took his place and Lord Baratheon knighted them on the spot. When Baelor came to this point in the story, his eyes which were looking thoughtfully at the candle on your beside, flicked towards you and you were frozen in his gaze which seemed almost, irritated.
You hadn't noticed that his eyes were two different colors, one a rich brown and the other a striking violet like that of the other Targaryen. One of his brothers you assumed.
His story continued on about how this now unnamed knight fought valiantly in the trial and even pushed Baelor out of the way of a probably fatal swing of his brothers mace. This knight took the hit to the right side of their helm collapsed almost immediately but they were alive.
A feeling of horror and realization that this was no mere fairytale had started creeping up on you and your breath caught in your throat when Baelor explained the wound this knight sustained was matching with your own. You weren't a fool. You didn't even really need for him to continue to know where this story ended but you let him anyway.
"I caught this knight before they could fall to give them my gratitude as the accusers side had now yielded, but when I removed their helm my lady, it was you underneath it. "
~
After Baelor's story concluded, you were shocked into a state of silence reeling from what he had told you. You did not doubt him, the crown prince was not known for lying, but its very hard to believe something you do not remember.
The headaches and nausea returned so the maester; who you figured out was name named Yormwell, suggested everyone else leave the room so he could finish his examination quickly and leave you to rest.
You thought that it was just him and Prince Baelor in the room but when when Baelor turned to leave and opened the door, a hulking figure to the left of the door was illuminated. The man had to be well over six feet tall. Maybe a guard of some sort- tho his clothing looked rough spun.
He exited after the prince but before he could pull the door to, a dark shape darted in the room, and you gasp because it was finally something you recognized!
"Soot!" You called out happily, and sat up a little straighter in the bed as you made little clicking noises that always got the cats attention. The maester made a sound of alarm when the black cat hopped onto the bed and started kneading himself a bed in your lap.
"How did you get here? Did I bring you here?" Soot obviously didn't reply but he looked up at you as he curled up in your lap and started purring.
You looked over at Yormwell daring him to move your friend. You already had a hand deep in his fur, grounding yourself in the familiar texture. Yormwell did not test his luck with Soot. He put on the now familiar smile and started poking on your left leg through the furs. Your left leg was also numb but you could wiggle your toes if you concentrated hard enough, and you counted that as a win.
Maester Yormwell explained how injuries to the head on one side, most commonly affect movement on the opposite side. He explained that it usually comes back in a day or two but weakness may follow you your entire life.
He also explains some of the other side effects. " Your skull was fractured but thankfully I don't believe there to be any swelling and the fever from your infection broke two days ago. We honestly didn't know if you would wake and contemplated carrying you to Kings Landing for better treatment if you had not woken in the next day or so.”
Yormwell was mixing together some foul smelling herbs that made you wrinkle your nose in distastes as he continued talking. "Some of the other side effects of your recovery you have already experienced, memory loss is the most common but it almost always comes back with time and rest."
You didn't miss his phrasing. Almost always. You asked him for the current month and were shocked to find that the last six months were completely missing from your memory. It was terrifying. How does an unwed lady of noble birth, wake-up hundreds of leagues away from her home with none of her family anywhere to be found?
Yormwell grabbed his now mixed paste and started unwrapping the bandages on your arm, but you hardly noticed, your mind a flurry of thoughts and questions.
"Maester, I don't mean to sound ungrateful-" Your voice died when Yormwell pulled the last of the bandages away revealing a nasty laceration that started a couple inches above your wrist and traveled all the way to the bend in your elbow. It had healed to a mostly pale puffy pink scar, the stitches has been removed sometime recently it seemed, but the area around the scar was a sickly yellow.
The maester took your silence in stride. "Thankfully we avoided an infection in your head, but your arm was not so lucky. The Kings Guard has notoriously dirty blades, and the tourney field was already so muddy…" He trailed off as he scooped up some of the paste and put it over the wound.
"When your fever broke, I was able to remove the stitches. It will scar but nothing that wont be to hard to cover I imagine." The arm was still numb so you didn't feel his touch. "When will I be able to return home?" It was a thought that had been nagging at the back of your mind since you awoke. You needed the truth. Soot seemed to feel your trepidation, as he got out of his curled position and started nuzzling against you chest, which brought a smile to your face as you ran a hand through his fur.
Soot was not a short-furred cat. He had a tendencies to end up places he shouldn't, and so in Winterfell you always kept a brush on hand to clear his fur of snags and knots you noticed, and he always seems to preen under the attention. You suspected after two weeks of neglect, his fur would be a matted mess, but as you ran your fingers down his spine and he arched into it, you noticed a suspicious lack of knots. Someone had been taking care of him.
” I suspect you will be fit for travel within the week, you need not worry my lady. You are no prisoner here." Yormwell replied softly, re-wrapping your arm in a new dressing he pulled out of his robes, and just like that it was like someone cut your strings. All your strength sapped out of you, your eyes growing heavy with strain. Soot curled up along your chest, head resting on your collar bone, the weight oddly grounding.
It would have brought back that bone deep fear of sinking back underneath the dark waves if the maester didn't tap the side of his nose as he stood back. "The smell will make you drowsy my lady. I will have the kitchens bring you up something to eat later. The best thing you can do for your body right now is to get as much rest as possible." He gathers up a few dishes and with a last glance over you, blows out the candle on your side, plunging you into darkness.
Your eyes fell shut with the dousing of the light and you felt yourself slip into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of snowy covered peaks and a dark shape darting in and out of snow drifts.